


stumbling upon cosmos

by flirtingwithtrackers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clarke and bell meet at a masquerade party</p><p>"They’re at a function for the police department, and Clarke can’t help but think she probably has one of Ark’s <i>finest</i> kissing up her thighs, even though she doesn’t recognize him, mask or not."</p><p>or, the one where clarke is octavia's co-worker and a blake family bbq gets a little awkward</p>
            </blockquote>





	stumbling upon cosmos

**Author's Note:**

> for [bellislife](http://bellislife.tumblr.com), who won a oneshot in [my fic giveaway](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com/post/116748946867)
> 
> prompt: bell and clarke are at a mask party and after some intense flirting they hook up and a few weeks later clarke goes to her work friend's house--Octavia--for a bbq and meets bell there and they don't recognize each other
> 
> aND THIS FIC WOULD BE NOTHING WITH MY LOVELY BETA [LEA](http://lackingstealth.tumblr.com) :))
> 
> honestly so happy with how this fic came out, so i really hope you guys like it too

Clarke braces herself, wrapping her fingers around the white porcelain of the sink underneath her. She sighs as he kneels before her, his broad shoulders settling underneath her thighs as he noses at the black lace of her panties. The lightly glittered accents around the edges of his mask rub against her skin and she shivers. She’s reminded then of her own mask, a gold mask that matches the accents of her gown tied around the intricate updo Harper had helped her with earlier that day, and her hand goes up automatically to make sure it’s in place. Clarke wants to take it off, throw it across the room, but she’s afraid it’ll make this into something it’s not. She doesn’t even know the guy’s name, _for fuck’s sake_ , and he’s already on his knees in front of her.

They’re at a function for the police department, and Clarke can’t help but think she probably has one of Ark’s _finest_ kissing up her thighs, even though she doesn’t recognize him, mask or not. Clarke has been dragged along to every function held for the Ark Police Department ever since her mother married Marcus, Chief of Police for Ark PD. She had been sitting alone at a table at this particular function, mask and all, on her third glass of chardonnay, when an unfamiliar voice rumbled behind her.

“Is this seat taken?” a man in a dark red mask asked, motioning to the seat beside her.

Clarke almost said yes, just to see the smirk on his face drop, but found herself saying _no_ without much thought, watching as he slid in beside her. He had his own glass with him, filled with a dark amber liquid.

“Do you normally come to these functions alone?”

“No, but my date brought a date,” she grimaced. Clarke had to refrain from grinding her teeth thinking of the woman in the green gown, a police sergeant on the force—or that’s what she told Clarke with a bright smile, when they shook hands. Finn had the decency to look ashamed beside her, even behind his ridiculous mask.

Clarke had thought she might not be able to make it tonight, but her mother wanted Clarke there for Marcus’s speech, at least. Abby had spent the better part of a week asking Clarke to clear her schedule, so it wasn’t like she could really say no. Needless to say, Clarke hadn’t expected to find Finn at an Ark PD function, let alone with a different date. They’d only been dating for a few weeks, so the sting wasn’t that bad, but it still left a burning in her chest like acid reflux. She was only staying to hear her stepfather’s speech, and had every intention of high-tailing it out of there once they took the obligatory family photos afterwards. But she still had another half hour of dinner and dancing to sit through before she could say her goodbyes.

“His loss, I’m sure,” her tablemate said, leaning towards her, “especially since you’re easily the most gorgeous woman here, even with that permanent frown.”

Clarke tried not to roll her eyes, but with a line like that, she couldn’t help it. “Where’s your date then?”

“Don’t have one. I just got transferred to the department so my invite was a little last minute. I didn’t have time to find one,” he grinned at her, lips quirked a little crookedly, eyes set on her and her alone.

“I’m sure you don’t have to look hard, with that winning charm of yours,” Clarke deadpanned, taking another sip of her drink. He chuckled and she tried not to notice how pretty his eyes were, dark brown with long, thick eyelashes, alive with his laughter. There were freckles peeking out under his mask, scattering his dark skin, and Clarke fought the urge to lift his mask, sure she’d find even more. When his lips curled into a smirk, she coughed and looked down at the bubbles floating around the top of her glass. 

“Do you want to dance?” he asked, nodding towards the middle of the room where couples were twirling around, the trains of large gowns interrupting the aged brown of the wooden dance floor.

“Not much of a dancer,” Clarke dismissed flippantly, half hoping he’d give up and leave. But she couldn’t say she was really disappointed when he leaned in a little closer—not too close, but close enough that he could drop his voice.

“How about we go do something else then?” he whispered near her shoulder, looking up at her with his dark eyes. It was hard to see his expression with the mask covering half of his face, but his fingers hovered over her wrist tentatively and his knee grazed her upper thigh as he turned towards her, and Clarke found herself curious.

The man sitting next to her was undoubtedly handsome, even with the mask. Broad shoulders, a suit that fit well, unruly curls that fell into his face prompting him to push them back into place. He was easy to smile, it seemed, smelling of brandy and soap. Clarke wouldn’t have minded finding out how those large hands feel on her—burning the memories of Finn off her skin, out of her mind—if only for the night.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, swirling her glass in her hand. He let his fingers fall on her wrist then, confident he had her interest piqued, drawing them back and forth along the pale skin. Clarke suppressed a shiver, taking another sip of her glass, trying to look unaffected.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her neck. “I think it has a lock.”

He looked up at her then, waiting for her answer. Clarke took one last gulp, downing the rest of her drink, before standing up, smoothing out her gown with her hands. Bellamy pulled away, watching her grab her clutch off the table. When he didn’t move, Clarke extended her hand towards him expectantly. He grinned widely before taking her hand and following her down the hall.

His big hands are now pressed into the creamy skin of her inner thighs, pushing them open, as she’s perched on the sink. Clarke bundles up the silk material of her dress, bunching it up around her hips and out of his way. She moans when he presses a kiss to her clit through the thin black cotton of her underwear, his tongue peeking out to leave a wet mark. He sucks at her clit through the material for a few moments before Clarke is pushing him away, her hand in his dark curls, eager to get her underwear off and his tongue back where she wants it. 

He helps slide her panties down her legs as she sits back down on the cold porcelain. Clarke thinks she sees him tuck them into his pocket as he leaves a trail of soft kisses from her knee up the inside of her thighs and she’s about to protest when his tongue draws a long, thick line up her slit, swirling around her clit at the top. He licks her again and again, a wide, flat tongue lapping at her gently, his nose brushing her clit lightly on the upstrokes.

One large arm curls around her thigh, his shoulders strong underneath her as his hand reaches up and around to lie across the top of her thigh and keep her in place. When he circles around her clit again, Clarke moans, her hands curling into the fabric of her dress. He keeps licking at her clit, sucking on and off in a way that has her thighs shaking and her breath uneven, until he stops, pulling away. He chuckles at her frustrated groan.

He pushes his mask up into his hair, leaning his cheek against her inner thigh for a few moments as he catches his breath, blowing lightly on her hot sex. From above him, she still can’t see his face, and though she’s a little disappointed, eager to see the imagined hard planes of his cheekbones, she is glad this illusion doesn’t have to end. 

Clarke almost yelps when his mouth is back on her, sucking lightly on her labia as the hand on the top of her thigh moves to thumb at her clit. It’s slow and torturous, sending a lazy tingle from his mouth to the rest of her body, a buzz just under her skin that has low moans falling out of her mouth and her back arching as she grips the sink tighter. She almost screams in relief when he sucks her clit into his mouth. 

She rides out her orgasm, her hand twisted into his curls as she keeps him in place against her. It’s not until she’s sated and slumped against the mirror behind her, with his arms keeping her from falling into the sink, that she releases, allowing him to stand. He moves closer to her, until her sticky thighs are cradling his hips. She sees his face for a matter of seconds, a hazy dream of smooth brown skin and constellations of freckles through half-hooded eyes, before he pulls his mask back down.

Once she’s recovered, she leans into him to place a sloppy kiss on his lips, sighing against his skin. Her nose bumps against his mask and they don’t fit very well, but the taste of her arousal on his lips and the slide of his tongue against her own is good enough. Clarke slowly brings her hand in between her thighs, tugging at his belt and zipping down his slacks. He comes with a groan against her neck, the ridges of his mask pushing into her jaw, and her second orgasm washes over in a gentle wave as her teeth sink into the bare skin of his shoulder.

***

A few weeks later, Clarke nervously tugs at the hem of her sundress as she waits outside of the small house. The front door is a soft blue that makes her smile. It reminds her of one of the houses she had always wanted as a kid—small but lived in, homey, _warm_. It makes her think of her father, as though _he_ was really her childhood home, not the too-big house she grew up in funded by the many nights her mom spent at the hospital instead of at home. She sees someone push aside the curtains in the window running along the door and smiles when she gets a peak of long dark hair. 

Octavia opens the door, a large man she assumes is her boyfriend tucked into the small entryway behind her. She rushes towards Clarke, pulling her into a big hug.

“I’m so glad you made it! I wasn’t sure if you were going to show,” Octavia says quickly into her ear, her smile evident in her voice. She pulls away after a few moments, letting Clarke breathe once again, and introduces her to Lincoln, her soft-spoken boyfriend. Clarke is smiling widely, something _most_ people do in Octavia’s presence, and follows obediently as Octavia leads her through the house.

They stop in the kitchen for a few moments. The walls are a soft yellow, a happy color that goes perfectly with the summer weather outside. Lincoln pauses to show Clarke where all the food is scattered on the counters, with the drinks in coolers along the wall just outside the back door. The couple leads her out into the backyard where Clarke finds some of her coworkers and a few unfamiliar faces mingling around picnic tables and a smoking grill. She gladly accepts a glass of lemonade from Lincoln, before he leaves to help the man standing at the grill.

Clarke quickly learns from Octavia that most of the guests are friends, that the Blake family is surprisingly small now, amounting to two people—her and her older brother. She is then thrown into the party, introduced to every unfamiliar face in Octavia’s haste to make Clarke socialize. She has been invited to many Blake events since she started working at Jaha & Associates, but this was the first one she finally showed up to, and it looked like Octavia was going to take advantage of it. 

After making her rounds, Clarke only has one more person to meet—the older brother. He’s manning the grill, flipping burgers and rolling hot dogs as Lincoln stands beside him, offering plates to him before handing them over to guests. Octavia gets his attention quickly and Lincoln takes over for a few minutes.

“Clarke, meet my annoying big brother,” Octavia says with an amused smile, leaning back when her brother tries to pull her hair. “Bell, this is Clarke, my friend from work,” she says, motioning towards Clarke vaguely. “ _Be nice_ ,” she warns him.

“I’m always nice,” he says, his eyebrows furrowed in petulance. Someone comes up beside Octavia, speaking softly behind her, before they both rush away, claiming a napkin emergency. Clarke watches them clamor into the house until she hears a low chuckle. She turns back to him, laughing along with him.

“She sure is a handful,” Clarke remarks.

“You should have seen her growing up,” he says, smiling fondly. He seems to remember they were in the middle of an introduction. “I usually go by Bellamy,” he says, extending a hand, “not _annoying big brother_.”

Clarke tries not the stare, but she finds herself transfixed by the small splattering of freckles across his cheekbones, the small dip in his chin. She looks down at his hand in confusion for a few moments, her mind trying to grasp for a memory she just can’t seem to pin down, before shaking her head lightly and finally extending her hand towards him. He wraps a big hand around her own, squeezing gently before letting go.

“Shame, doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Clarke finally responds, hoping she sounds like a normal human being.

When he laughs, she almost sighs in relief. Then he straightens and crosses his arms over his chest, looking from her blonde curls down to her sandaled feet. “So,” he says with a teasing tilt to his lips, “this is the princess from out-of-state that’s too good to come to any of our parties?”  His smile softens at the shock on Clarke’s face, and he adds, “Well, you certainly look the part. Glad you could finally make it.”

Clarke sputters, trying to explain herself, feeling her cheeks warm, “I just had a lot going on, okay, when I moved back here. It not that I didn’t want to come, I just…” She searches from something to say, to explain, but Bellamy is waving her off. 

“It’s okay, princess.” When she doesn’t look convinced, looking at the ground guiltily, he crouches down, leveling his eyes with hers until she finally looks up at him. “Really,” he says, an understanding smile of his lips. Clarke sighs in relief, nodding at him. Then Octavia is back, asking for a cornhole partner, someone who can help her beat Lincoln and Miller. Clarke volunteers dutifully, hovering near Bellamy still as Octavia teases Lincoln, already trash-talking before the game has even begun.

“Nice to meet you, Clarke,” Bellamy says to her once he’s back at the grill, a smile on his face. “I wish you luck. Beat Miller for me.” He winks and Clarke tries to keep herself up on weak knees.

She gives him a final smile and a small, awkward wave, before Octavia is yelling across the backyard for her and she hurries over, chuckling at her friend. 

*** 

Clarke’s helping clean up after everyone else has left, refusing to let Octavia kick her out until all the food is put away at least. Octavia is outside, helping Lincoln move all the picnic tables back against the fence while Clarke bustles around the center island in the kitchen, which is covered in all the leftover food. She’s trying to wrap and store everything in the overflowing fridge when she hears someone struggle to open the sliding glass door.

When she looks up, Bellamy has finally got the door open, arms loaded with wine bottle as he walks into the kitchen. He hurries towards the only open counter space on the island and Clarke leans back against the island behind her, so he can slide past her. Frowning adorably, Bellamy shifts his arms in an attempt to pull all the bottles down at once, making a ruckus that has Clarke laughing quietly behind him. She steps over to give him a hand and together they manage to set them all on the counter without breaking any. With a relieved murmur of thanks, Bellamy sends her an easy smile, nodding towards the back door and the yard beyond.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, voice soft in the small space between them.

“I did,” Clarke answers, “Thank you for having me.”

“No problem at all.” Bellamy looks at her for a few moments, before finally looking away, gathering up a few of the bottles he brought in. “I should put these in the fridge,” he says, trying to grab the last two bottles sitting on the counter.

“Oh, I’ll help,” Clarke grabs them and walks around the corner of the island to the refrigerator. She pulls the door open and places the bottles carefully inside. When she turns around, she runs right into Bellamy’s chest, a small _humph_ escaping her lips. He doesn’t back away immediately, the island in his way, and Clarke finds herself staring up at him. His lips are wet, like he just sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, or ran his tongue out across it. Patches of light freckles span out from his nose across his cheekbones, making patterns Clarke is sure she’s seen in the night sky. She looks into his eyes then, enraptured by the rich, dark brown, almost as black as his pupil. When his lips quirk up into a smirk—probably because he can see her _blatantly_ checking him out—Clarke almost startles at the realization. 

Bellamy moves back away from her then, letting her move past him so he can get to the fridge. He’s finding space for the wine bottles when Clarke unconsciously mumbles under her breath, _red mask_. She hears his own epiphany when a bottle clinks loudly. Bellamy steadies all the bottles in the fridge, making them fit, before turning around to face her, closing the fridge door behind him.

She dreads him turning around, pretty sure she won’t be able to look him in the eye, thinking about his lips against her thighs. The guy in the red mask, the guy who readily sank to his knees in front of her, has been the highlight of a few dreams, the star of a few fantasies. The sex hadn’t been the _best_ , it wasn’t world shattering or mind-blowing, but it was good, _earnest_. It had promise, a burgeoning potential she was sure it would never have the opportunity to achieve, but it was stilled burned into her memory—a helping hand when she got herself off before bed, trying to remember his smirk as she imagines his hands, his lips, his _tongue_. Knowing the face under the mask is bound to make every fantasy from her on just a _little_ more helpful, even as Clarke burns with embarrassment, standing so close to him now.

“You’re the girl in the gold mask?” he asks, standing just a little too close in the small space between the island and the refrigerator.

Clarke nods lamely, cheeks a bright pink, feeling the heat bloom under her skin. 

“I think I have a pair of your underwear,” he admits, a shy smile on his face.

Octavia opens the back door, her and Lincoln coming into the kitchen, and Clarke and Bellamy quickly move away from each other, blushing and stammering. Octavia quirks an eyebrow at them both and Clarke doesn’t dare to make direct eye contact. Bellamy coughs, quickly turning, muttering about cleaning the grill while Clarke busies herself with wrapping up some of the food platters. 

*** 

Octavia practically skips over to Clarke’s desk the next morning at work, peeking into Jaha’s office to make sure he isn’t there before hopping up onto her desk. “So, did you enjoy the party?” she smiles widely, “you survived your first Blake Family Event, I’m proud.”

Clarke chuckles, “Yeah, it wasn’t that bad. I actually had fun.” She laughs again when Octavia sticks her tongue out. Clarke taps her fingers in her lap, building up the courage to ask the question that’s been pestering her since last night. 

“Out with it,” Octavia says, exasperated. Clarke almost looks like she’s about to deny she has anything on her mind, but Octavia knows her too well, even though they haven’t been friends for very long. 

“So, your brother,” Clarke begins and Octavia rolls her eyes, an affectionate smile on her face as she waits for Clarke to continue. “He’s not seeing anyone, is he? I mean, I don’t remember meeting a girlfriend or anything, unless she couldn’t…” Octavia cuts her off, mercifully ending Clarke’s rambling.

“No, he’s not seeing anyone,” Octavia smirks, a Blake trait, it seems. “But he’s pretty hung up on someone.” Clarke tries not to look disappointed, looking down at her lap. But then Octavia is laughing, poking her arm. “He asked for your number, after going through this same, _painfully_ awkward conversation. It took him five minutes to get around to actually asking for it, since he kept talking in circles to try to convince me he _wasn’t_ trying to ask for your number, but it’s safe to say he’s hung up on _you_ , Clarke.”

Clarke tries to contain her grin, failing miserably as Octavia shakes her head. “He’s calling you tonight to ask you on a date.” With that, Octavia hops off her desk and walks away, muttering _idiots_ under her breath as she goes. 

*** 

The date goes well, once Bellamy finally built up the courage to ask, his rambling beforehand making Clarke smile much more than she’d like to admit. He took her to a restaurant downtown, where they drank a little too much wine and argued about the stupidest things—taste in movies, the importance of the oxford comma, being a Yankees fan, the overuse of emojis. They spent way too much time staring at one another, glad there were no masks in the way, locking eyes unabashedly.

Bellamy was just as charming—just as sexy—as he was the night of the ball, his smirk making Clarke smile and blush all night. Until he spilled wine on his dress shirt, laughing too hard at one of her stories about working with Octavia, and Clarke found herself even more charmed, entirely too smitten with the man in front of her, with the way his cheeks reddened in embarrassment, how he brushed his curly locks out of his face before scrubbing at the stain in vain before giving up with a shrug.

He was blown away by the navy blue dress she wore, the way her hair was curled in soft waves around her face, the delicate pink of her lipstick, only to be completely surprised by her tendency for swearing—a habit he probably found too endearing. Bellamy laughed too loudly, full-bodied and contagious, reaching over the table to lay his hand over hers. Clarke could feel her heart pounding gleefully in her chest as she took his hand in her own, his smile practically taking her breath away. She was glad to find that his palms were just as sweaty as her own.

Bellamy sighed, in awe, “You’re nothing like I expected.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Clarke asks, a wry smile on her face. 

“Not at all.”

And now they’re attached at the lips, stumbling around Clarke’s apartment as Bellamy pulls at the hem of her dress, yanking it off over her head. Their clothes are scattered down her hallway as they make their way to her bedroom, almost entirely naked by the time they make it to the doorway. Bellamy is standing in his boxers, playing with the strap of her bra, when Clarke finally falls back into her bed. He looks down at her in the dark, sees her silhouette against the light sheets under her, and frowns just a little. “Hold on,” he says, walking away from her.

Clarke sits up, worried, watching as he crosses the room quickly, flicking on the lights before walking back, standing at the end of the bed again. She raises her eyebrow at him, but still smiles at the adorable grin on his face.

“I want to be able to see you,” he says, eyes drifting down her body, taking in all the smooth, creamy skin. Clarke blushes under his gaze, her heart warming the look of adoration on his face. The heat quickly turns into a burning desire when his gaze becomes hungry, eagerly eating up the sensuous curves of her body, the gentle swells of her breasts. He leans over her, pressing a hot kiss to her lips before moving his mouth to her ear, nibbling at her lobe as his hands ghost over her sides. “I want to watch you fall apart,” he whispers into her ear, making her shiver in delight. 

Clarke couldn’t agree more, especially later when she’s basking in the glory that is Bellamy’s o-face right before her collapses on top of her. She huffs exasperatedly, a fond smile on her face, as she struggles to push him off, making him laugh as he rolls over. He’s quick to curl up behind her, his hands finding her waist easily, after they both catch their breath. Clarke turns around in his arms, wanting to face him, and decides then and there that the satisfied, sleepy smile he gives her is undoubtedly her favorite. 

Bellamy wakes up that morning to Clarke tracing constellations into his skin, her fingertip smoothing over his cheekbones as she connects the freckles on his cheeks. He presses a kiss to her forehead, pulling back with a lazy grin on his face, one that has Clarke’s heart racing as she smiles back. She still gets a rush when she thinks about the night of the ball, the fantasy of anonymity rushing through her veins, but this, the two of them curled up in her bed, warm and familiar and _real_ , is so much better.

**Author's Note:**

> weLP LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK
> 
> come cry with me on [tumblr](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com) :))


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